Fallout: Equestria - Rolling Bones

by Honey Mead

Chapter 4-2: Leaving Home

 Fallout Equestria: Rolling Bones
Chapter 4-2: Leaving Home

I’d never been much of a flier by pegasus standards. It was a convenience that I definitely took advantage of, but I didn’t really get trying to stay airborne all the time. It was no easier than walking, and since nopony else could join me… it just made sense to stay on all four most of the time.

Then I left Dise.

Oracle found me almost the instant we stepped outside the Parasprite Mound and began drilling me on my flying habits and everything I knew about flying. He bombarded me with technical questions that flew right over my head and left me feeling like a nest couped colt. He was not impressed and decided that I needed to begin an immediate trial run to see exactly how long I could stay airborne.

Not a mile into the Wasteland and I’d already been in the air for longer than I could remember.

It was odd. At the start I wasn’t particularly happy about Oracle’s order. Flying until I couldn’t fly anymore was not something I looked forward to. Not that I really put up a fight over it. Oh, I moaned and complained, made myself look sympathetic and what not, but I didn’t put any real effort into it. It wasn’t hard to tell that Oracle wasn’t the type to be persuaded by such play acting, and I did it more for myself than him.

So, I flew. I climbed into the open sky. I pushed past the tallest buildings in Dise and kept going. Soon, I was high enough that I couldn’t hear or smell anything from the ground. That’s what did it, I think. Wind filled my ears. Clear crisp air filled my lungs. There was this pleasant emptiness that occupied my mind and lulled me into a sort of daze.

The air was so malleable at that altitude. With each downstroke it became almost rigid, a solid mass against which my wings pushed. Only to disappear altogether with each upstroke, my wings snapping to glide without the slightest effort. From there I could soar for meters before I needed to repeat the motion. After the first few minutes, I didn’t have to think about it anymore. Like breathing, my wings already knew what they needed to do. It was relaxing in a way that I didn’t realize flying could be.

I sailed.

I soared.

And I completely zoned out.

It had to be an hour or two when a muscle in my right wing twinged. On reflex, it curled to my side, folding even as my left continued on, unabated.

I lost control.

One moment, I was coasting along without a care, the next, I was a corkscrew on a rapid descent toward the unforgiving hills.

Spinning like a bullet, I made the mistake of trying to do a full correct right off by throwing both my wings out wide. The loss of more than a few feathers showed me the error of my ways, and I slammed my wings shut. Still spiraling like a top, I pushed my wings out gradually, twisting them and forcing the air to flow the way I wanted. Before long, I stabilized and leveled out, only then beating my wings to regain the lost meters.

After that, I started paying a little more attention to everything.

Besides the ache in my wings and back, the first thing I noticed was how far off course I’d gone. It shouldn’t have been much of a shock. I mean, I’d pretty much let the air currents guide my flight for the previous hour or two. Why I found that funny, I’m not sure, but apparently I did because I started chuckling. It never became anything more than that, but it lasted for a solid ten minutes before settling into a content smile.

The landscape outside of Dise was rocky and bleak. Maybe back east things were more lively, but to the west everything was hard and brown, like life had never really tried to get a hoofhold in the first place. Were it not for the broken road that the caravan followed, it would have looked like nothing more than a brown version of the grey clouds overhead.

It was almost dark before I finally returned to the ground. I was probably more surprised about that than anyone else. Staying aloft for the entire day had sounded like so much effort at first, but, aside that one incident, it’d been a cakewalk. My wings were sore, no doubt about that, and I’d be feeling it in the morning, but it was no more taxing than if I’d walked the entire day instead.

The wagons rolled off the road as I circled, descending in a slow spiral. The five wagons did much the same, coming to rest just off the road in a large circle, like some kind of mobile fort. A small fire was just being lit in the center as I reached the wagon tops and trotted to a stop outside.

Oracle and Cross were waiting for me when I touched down. Our conversation consisted entirely of questions: ‘How did I feel? Would I be able to do that every day? How much longer?’ and so forth. I answered as best I could. Once he was satisfied Oracle told me to get some rest because ‘tomorrow, the real work begins’.

Cold splashed across my face, shocking me out of sleep and sending me jolting to attention. Certain that I was about to drown, I gasped and flailed in a useless attempt to escape the waters assaulting me, succeeding only in falling gracelessly to my back.

The sharp sting of soap burned my eyes and curdled my tongue as Spoon laughed uproariously. “Always a classic!”

Gagging and spitting, I dragged my teeth over my tongue, failing to remove the horrid taste out of my mouth. Though the nasty water wiped easily from my face, it left behind a soapy film that wasn’t any better.

The stinging in my eyes made it difficult to glare at Spoon, but I managed. “I hate you.”

“Aww, come on, Feathers. Hate’s a strong word. ‘Sides,” he waved a hoof as though dismissing the whole thing, “what did I ever do to you?”

I was about to berate him on being a complete asshole when a slight snicker from behind me gave up the game.

Rolling onto my hooves, I came nose-to-nose with the real perpetrator. “You think that was funny, do ya?”

Carrot couldn’t even meet my eyes, his  laughter finally taking the reins. The small, tin bucket he’d been holding dropped alongside himself, both rolling side-to-side.

I pressed my ears back and knit my brow. My tail swished once, hiked up and tense. With an expression that screamed ‘this is serious’, I stood over him, caging his head between my forelegs, and said, “Of course you know, this means war.”

“Ha! Sounds like you’re going to have to watch your back, Carrot. You might’ve met your match.”

To my annoyance, Carrot didn’t seem all that concerned. With a smug grin, he rolled under me and bolted away, shouting, “Gonna have to find me first!”

Too slow, I spun to take off after him… only for Spoon to snatch my tail and yank me back to the ground.

“Hey!” I shouted, rubbing my sore rump.

“There’ll be time for play later. But right now, the commander wants to talk to you, so get your flank in gear.”

I started to protest, but my body decided that that was as good a time as any to remind me about the previous day’s flight. It began with an ache in my wings so deep that I would have sworn they’d fallen off. Not to be outdone, my back made its own protests known with a tightness that made it impossible not to open and close my wings no matter how much each movement hurt. Just like that, the prospect of even hovering became a prelude to torture.

“Goddesses! Why does it hurt?” I groaned, moaning in supplication to any deity who would make it stop. For those first few minutes, I seriously considered that it might be less painful to simply hack them off.

“Don’t even think about it, Feathers,” Spoon said, forestalling my attempt to lay back down. “You’re not the only one who would much rather be in bed. Oracle wants to see you. Now.”

The look in his eyes told me that there was no way to win that argument, and I got the distinct impression that he wanted me to try anyway. Clicking my tongue, I decided to disappoint him.

He tried to hide his disappointment at my unenthused nod—failed, but tried—before leading the way as though I needed an escort.

Then again, it would have taken me a while to find him, I guess. I’d expected him to be inside the wagon circle, not sure why, it just seemed like the place to be. Instead, he was on the eastern side, sitting with his back to the caravan and facing Dise. A bowl of porridge sat beside him with a spoon held in his magenta field. Cross was there too, laid out on her side with her braided tail curled around her thigh, she rested in about as lewd a posture as she could without displaying herself outright. To be honest, however, the book propped up before her drew my eye more than anything else. The title was faded beyond recognition, but it was easily a half-hoof thick.

“Lucky,” Oracle started, drawing my attention away from Cross, “did you sleep well?”

Despite the how early it was, I was awake enough to start thinking clearly. It only took me a moment to decide how I wanted this conversation to go. This was my foreseeable future, after all. No need to fuck it up right off the bat by being flippant. Forcing my whole body to relax and take on a respectful tone, I engaged my adversary.

Taking an extra second to examine him, I could tell that something was off; his ears were too tense, jaw tight and eyes crinkled. That was all I had to work with.

“I’m sorry,” I said, making sure to add in a pinch of genuine contrition.

Oracle smirked at that but didn’t turned to face me yet, nor did his face loosen. “Tomorrow you will wake up on your own. You may be my responsibility, but I am not your foalsitter. For the duration of this expedition, you are under my employ. As such, your actions reflect on me and mine. I do not take well to ponies staining my reputation.”

I continued to watch him as he spoke. The smirk had yet to leave his lips, but that didn’t change how serious he was. Letting my ears droop a fraction—certain that he could see it—I feigned as though I’d taken the light scolding to heart.

“I will do my best,” I hedged. I was almost certain that he wouldn’t go for it, but it was worth a shot.

“Either you will on your own, or I’ll let Cross be the one to wake you up every morning.”

The threat came out too clean. His timbre didn’t rise or fall a hair, nor did his ears or tail twitch, none of his muscles tensed or relaxed. My eyes flickered to the mare, her gaze fixed on me with a  predatory gleam. I took a step back without realizing it.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said after swallowing another bite of his porridge, still facing Dise. “Go see Irons about communications, then get yourself some breakfast, you’re going to need it.”

After being dismissed by Oracle, Spoon and I went into the circle to get breakfast.

Most of the Watchers were either busying eating or packing, some unicorns managing both. Rose Blossom was dishing out the porridge, passing the wooden bowls to every pony with a smile. Or she was until I came to get one. She leveled a not at all subtle scowl at me and nearly broke the bowl and ladle when she slammed my serving in it.

I was honestly confused at first. I’d never done anything to her directly, or indirectly for that matter. Then I remembered how close she was with Gray. That, of course, reminded me of everything else that had happened over the last few days.

My mood sufficiently soured, I plopped down next to Spoon and set to eating the bland, mush of porridge. Spoon talked at me, and I nodded along, keeping my mouth occupied with food.

By the time we finished, the Watchers were all but packed up, stowing the last of the tents away as the pull teams hitched themselves up to the wagons.

I spotted Hurdles through the crowd, with Tonka at his side, but looked away before we could make eye contact. There was no way I was ready to deal with that mess.

Leading me to the armory, Spoon mounted the steps to open the door. A fuzzy, crackling zap preceded a cry of pain, muffled by the thick metal walls. Irons flew through the wall, passing it by like a ghost, and tumbled to a stop three lengths beyond… hovering a half-length in the open air.

My eyes shifted between the not at all destroyed wall and the mint green unicorn leaning against nothing but air, then back and forth again. Try as I might, I couldn’t accept what I was seeing. Unicorn’s don’t float on air, and they most definitely do not pass through walls like they weren’t even there.

The door to the wagon swung outward, and Irons slumped onto Spoon’s knees—the other one mirroring his movements perfectly. Scorch marks blackened his otherwise mint coat, tiny sparks flashing off the short hairs, all of which seemed to be standing on end.

For the first time in my life, I was grateful that ponies were herders. Rather than worry about it, I allowed my instincts to ‘follow the leader’ take over. Since Spoon and Irons didn’t seem to find anything odd or even noteworthy about there being a second, floating Irons, neither did I.

“That looked like it hurt,” Spoon said, offering Irons a hoof.

“I forgot to disconnect the power crystal…”

“Again?”

His cheeks flushed, an arc of lightning sparking down his mane. “Yeah…”

Spoon whacked him upside the head, though there didn’t seem to be any force behind it. “One of these days Irons…” Sighing, he nudged the smaller unicorn back toward the wagon. “Oracle wants you to get Feathers here linked-up.”

“Really?” He glanced around Spoon to look me up and down, “Already?”

“Already.”

“The whole kit ‘n kaboodle?”

“The whole nine yards.”

“The whole shebang?”

Out of the corner my eye, the second Irons disappeared.

“Lock, stock, and barrel.”

“The works?”

“Bit and bridle.”

“The… damn it, I got nothing.”

Spoon chuckled, patting the unicorn’s back. “Ah well, maybe next time.” Backing out, he asked, “You got this?”

“Yep, see you around.”

“Once Irons gets you squared away, Oracle is going to expect you to be up in the air,” Spoon said to me as he started moving away. “See you tonight.”

I shook off everything that had just happened and nodded. What ever that was obviously had nothing to do with me.and waved him off with a wing before turning to Irons, failing to pick up on what he’d just said. Irons motioned me to join him in the armory.

“Here, these are for you.” A pair of flight goggles, wrapped in his golden aura, floated out of a box. “I meant to give them to you yesterday, but...” His eyes drifted to Rainbow Dash.

“Heheh... yeah... ” My wing scratched the back of my neck. “About that… look, I-”

“Don’t worry about it” he said, turning his attention to one of the other hooflockers, “it was my fault. You live, you learn. We all have our little quirks. Forgive and forget, life’s too short in the Wastes. Well?” The goggles jiggled in his magic.

I took the goggles in hoof and examined them. They didn’t seem to be anything special. Just a pair of thick plastic lenses inside airtight frames. I slipped the strap behind my head and slid them over my eyes. I had to tilt them back to let out some pressure before replacing them.

It felt a little awkward at first. The pressure around my eyes was something that would take some getting used to. A few scratches adorned the edges of the lens, but it was nothing that interfered with my vision. “I’ll give ‘em a shot.”

“That’s good. The last owner definitely doesn’t need them anymore.” Huh? “But that isn’t why you’re here. The commander wants you linked-up. Ah ha!” He held up a small box. Polished to a shine, the dark wood glinted even in the weak light from the magelamps. Opening it, he revealed a silky, cloth interior that contained a number of small devices about half the size of a cap.

I lowered the goggles and let them hang just about Dash, giving them a skeptical look. “What are those?”

“Oracle calls them ‘Blu-horns’. They’re Arcano…” He lost me after that. I was no stranger to complex terminology, the Watchers made sure of that, but this was beyond me. Once he finished speaking and saw my look of bemusement, he rolled his eyes. “Tiny radios you stick in your ear.”

“Ah.”

“Yes… Ah.” He rolled his eyes again, muttering something I didn’t bother to listen to. “Here.” One of the ‘Blu-horns’ rose in his field and into my left ear.

I waited a few seconds, then asked, “So, how does it work?”

He shrugged. “I just build them. The commander does the rest.”

“Really? So what? I just—”

“Sevens.”

“What?” I jumped and turned left, looking for whoever just spoke. “Who said that?”

“That would be the commander. You should probably listen to him.”

“We are leaving in ten, I want a forty-five degree arc, three miles ahead. Got that?”

“Can he hear me?”

”Yes. Now, I suggest you get moving.”

“Right. See you around, Irons.”

He waved goodbye as I stepped outside. “Have fun.”

I’d finally found it. The one thing that had been missing from my life. I’d reveled in it. Everything before had been a poor substitute, a mockery, painted up to try to fool me. I’d finally seen them for the lies they had been. It was what life was meant to be. No restrictions, no limitations, just pure unadulterated freedom.

The joy. The exhilaration. The wonder. It’d been like my first time all over again.

And then, in the space of a single day, it became a job.

On the first day, I’d been able to simply fly. To let my wings carry me across the sky. All of my attention was focused on the experience, with no thought to where, when, or why.

After that it became work; worse, it was boring work.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Compared to the previous day, I had to pay attention to where I was flying and the ground below. It required me to at least do something. Then I remembered that I had a Pipbuck that made it all too easy to spot anything that might be hostile. Once that happened, well, it all just fell apart from there.

I’m sure I wasn’t doing things to Oracle’s preference, but I didn’t really give a damn. I’d been reduced to a pair of eyes flying ahead of the caravan to search for non-existent potential threats.

It was the worst kind of boring, too. That boring where you have to pay attention in only the most visceral sense. Any less and you could be napping, any more and it might actually be engaging, and how terrible would that be.

So there I was, third day on the road, cruising along high above the ground, making another pass over a strip of land that was identical to the previous strip of land that was identical to the previous strip of land, so forth and so on… when I decided to take a break. Not a nap, though goddesses know I would have liked one. Just a break, five minutes or so of doing what I wanted. I figured I could defend it as necessary to keep my ‘attentiveness at optimal levels’ or something.

I broke off my lazy flight and soared up, gaining altitude quickly with each pump of my wings. The flight goggles made a big difference. No longer was my speed regulated by the pressure on my eyes. No, I could now go all out without a second’s thought.

So I did.

Reaching the lower cloud level, I leaned back, spun around, and went into an almost vertical dive. Those few seconds at the top, where I stopped moving and gravity is just about to catch up, where I am completely and totally weightless. There is no wind there, no pressure, I close my eyes and there is no light. The world is too far away for sound… I am alone. There is nothing except for me. No caravan, no Oracle, no Hurdles, no Gray…. and it is wonderful.

And then gravity sunk in its claws and I started to fall.

Falling, I rise again.

When I reach the ceiling again, I do something I’ve never done before. One extra flap and I touched the clouds.

My eyes widened in shock as I pulled my hoof back and brought a clump of cloud with it. It was fluffy. Soft and springy in an insubstantial way. At the same time it was squishy and almost moist, like fresh mud or clay. A smile crept across my face as I played with it, a thousand ideas began storming my brain all at once.

“What are you doing?” an angry voice whispered in my ear, pulling me back out of my own head.

“Uhm... nothing.” I cringed, knowing that that was the wrong thing to say.

“And what are you supposed to be doing?”

“Scouting ahead for any signs of danger.” Letting the bit of cloud go, I stopped flapping and fell.

Below and behind, I could see the caravan as it trudged along beside the old railway tracks. Though I couldn’t pick out one individual pony, I could easily imagine Oracle standing on one of the wagons and glaring at me through a pair of binoculars.

”Then I suggest you get to it.”

“Ten-four, boss.”

With that, I spun, dove, and rocketed ahead once again.

A few hours later, the whole caravan slowed to a halt for lunch.

While I probably should have gone back to eat, I really didn’t want to. Between the exercise and heat, I just wasn’t feeling the extra two miles—each way—trip. After informing Oracle, I lazed around the higher, and cooler, altitudes for a few minutes. The thermals up there were enough to keep me afloat without much effort, and I probably would have stayed up there if I hadn’t noticed a nice, shaded outcropping just off the train tracks we’d been following.

It looked like a wonderful place to take a nap until the caravan started rolling again.

Then I learned why you never, ever, fall asleep in the Wasteland.

Everything about the little camp North of Dise proclaimed its militaristic nature like the stink of a skunk. Tiny, two pony tents—save for the last which was more akin to a canvas house than a tent—sat in nice, neat little rows. There was hardly a hint of idleness to be found. Not a single one of the gits was taking a moment to themselves that wasn’t in some way a duty or task set out by a superior.

It would have made him sick, if he’d bothered pay it any mind. Who want’s to be sick when there’s a nice piece of flank swaying three paces forward and a half step to the right?

Blue Crush took in every minor detail for later consultation, the particular way her hips moved from side-to-side with each step, how her bound tail sat just so—hinting but never showing, how the hairs of her coat coalesced at the back of her legs, swooping together into ridges like mountains on a map disappearing behind that tail that just wouldn’t get out of the way.

She was a burgundy color, rich and dark, with a short cropped mane of pink. Unicorn, maybe, he’d have to check again to be sure… not that it mattered. Either way, she was strong, her muscles shifting under her coat with every step. She wore a uniform, it was desert camo, and her Mark was… something military related.

He almost ran into her when she stopped. “Wait here.”

With that, she slipped into the tent, leaving Blue Crush to turn and glare at the army buffoons.

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. The mare, a unicorn indeed, exited seconds later with another unicorn filly in tow. No, it was a colt, an effeminate little thing to be sure. Cream coated with a vibrant red mane, he was an officer of some level, based on his dress, but Crush didn’t catch the rank on his collar.

The mare stood just outside the tent opening, holding back the canvas. “He’ll see you now.”

“Roight,” he said, stepping forward only to pause. “Offer still stands ifin ya wanna good ruttin’.” When she didn’t reply with anything more than a stern glower, he shrugged. “Roight, ifin ya change ya mind…” He gave her a toothy grin that only caused her to growl.

Stepping inside, he was unsurprised to find the tent filled with furniture. Directly in front of him, a large folding table was covered with books and papers. At the back, a collapsible cot took up the left corner with two trunks along the right wall. There were no seats for visitors.

An older stallion, earth pony, with a dirty green coat, greying black mane, and a severe face that had more in common with a moss covered boulder than a pony muzzle, sat behind the desk. His army uniform was a stiff, light tan color without a single hint of dirt.

He didn’t look up as Blue Crush entered. Instead, his focus remained on the book before him. A pen, held between his teeth, moving in harsh lines across the open page.

Blue hated this part. It was a game, a show of power and control, of which he had none. The curse of a working stallion was being at the beck and call of those who had the caps. He’d been a part of this particular dog ‘n pony show before. Ignore the merc to make sure he knows his place.

Finally, Lock Step set his pen aside, closed the book, lifted his gaze, and placed both forehooves together on the table. “So, Mr. Crush, I understand you have a message for me.”

“Aye, ‘at I do.”

“The floor is yours,” the general said, leaning back and motioning with his forehooves.

Blue Crush didn’t mince words as he explained what had happened the days before, his partners death, being captured, and Oracle’s message. When he got to the end, Lock Step had him repeat the message word for word five times, a griffin’s grin pulling his lips further each time.

Lock Step snatched a piece of paper and began to write, ignoring Blue as though he’d never been there. He watched the general put pen to paper in a frenzy until he decided that enough was enough. “There’s one more thing.”

Lock Step glanced up, but didn’t stop writing even as he spoke around the pen. “Yes?”

Twisting his neck, Blue Crush undid the straps of his saddlebags and dropped them onto the desk. A few caps bounced out of the loose flaps, scattering across the desk and falling to the dirt. Lock Step stopped writing finally, giving him a questioning glance.

“W’as left of yer payment.”

With a hoof, Lock Step flipped open one of the flaps and peered inside. “So you’ll not be joining us?”

“Whot? Fock no. I ain’t want to go stompin’ off, chasin’ after some git and ‘is bitch. Already lost one ear, ain’t lookin’ ta lose another.”

Lock Step watched him as though he’d never seem something quite like him before. Then he shrugged and turned back to his paper. “Good day.”

It was Blue Crush’s turn to supply the curious look. He almost spoke once or twice, but thought better of it. Instead he nodded, more to himself than Lock Step, and left.

Outside the tent he paused to take in his surroundings again before walking back toward Dise, whistling tunelessly as he went.

*************************
Footnote:
Chapter 4 Progress: 100%

Equipment:
Blu-horn: A small, ear mounted communication device designed by Oracle and Irons. You have no idea how it works, but, as useful as it is, you’ll probably learn to hate it.